Still Before the Storm
by Waspinatrix
Summary: Vorns before the Cybertronian Civil War, in a time when the energy crisis and civil unrest were just mounting. A young Decepticon must come to terms with himself in the face of political intregue and possible madness.
1. Default Chapter Title

Transformers: Still Before the Storm  
V3.0.1  
By Waspinatrix (waspinatrix@hotmail.com)  
  
Legalese: Transformers, Autobots, Decepticons, Cybertron and the Matrix concept are trademarks and copyrights of HasKen. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit.  
  
This story, The characters: Pi, Stray, Tork, Prima Omni, Roc, Raz, Loq, Winger, Cord, Trak, Tesh, Ping, Straxion, BlackIce, Tricrom, AlphaWave. The Seuq game, and the Shade/Shadow assassin concept are copyright of Waspinatrix 1997-2000. The story is not to be redistributed in whole or part with out my permission. Please do not use any of my characters without my permission.  
  
Part One:   
Not from stars do I my judgement pluck;  
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell;  
By oft predict that I in heaven find -  
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,  
As truth and beauty shall together thrive;  
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.  
--Mr. W. H. (condensed)  
  
"Pi, why must you go?" Straxion asked pointedly. His optics smoldered with a keen intellect that smothered out the innocence of his youth. He held his heavy frame stiff; his countenance aloof. His only defense... He was acutely aware of what was happening, even if he didn't understand it. The confusion compounded his pain.  
Pi could only stare at this enigma she called son. He was something she could never understand, certainly not relate to. Pi turned to Trak, the elder twin. The youth clung to her hand, as if only she had the power to keep the Pits of Inferno at bay. Pi's optics flickered as she knelt down and cupped Trak's head with her free hand.  
"Trak be good," She instructed, making optic contact. Her gaze avoided direct contact with the other twin. "Trak help Strax." Trak nodded, trying to be brave. A glimmer of understanding had crept into Trak's optics. The near resemblance to Straxion frightened Pi. Had she only fooled herself into thinking that the twins were different? Thinking, hoping that one would be enough like her. Pi bit her lip, and said, "Pi be back-"  
"No." The tone of finality contrasted Straxion's still undeveloped voice. "You won't." He would not be lied to. And he lost respect at his mother's fallacious attempts to ease their parting. Pi bowed her head, unable to make optic contact with either son.  
Trak stared at the hunched over mountain of his mother, as he also bit on his lip. He was torn inside. Wanting desperately to believe his mother's words, but truth irrevocable was with Straxion. The undeniable feeling that he'd never see her again. Overwhelmed, he threw his arms around her neck and clung desperately to the only security he had ever known.  
The Decepticon that had been waiting with growing impatience, grit his teeth and snarled at Pi. He couldn't stand one more decibreem of this warmed over slag. "That's enough!" He screeched, as he wrenched Trak from Pi and shoved the boy in the direction of his brother. "You!" He shoved his index finger into Pi's face, forcing her to rise to avoid him. "You get back to your work station before I slag you!" He yelled putting himself between her and her children.  
Pi raised up to her full, monolithic height. Her gaze -- once trained to avoid contact with her superiors -- hardened. She hesitated, as her instincts to protect her children fought with the slavish, weak-willed, every-day nature. Her awareness of her social class won out and her shoulders slumped. "Pi obey," she whispered, as she turned and walked away. Her stride slow, and broken, her Spark contrite. She refused to look back.  
"Pi!" Trak's wail pierced Straxion's fuel pump. Straxion quickly grabbed his brother's arm, sensing that Trak was about to bolt after their mother. An equal match with raw physical strength. Straxion had an innate understanding of the principles and laws of physics. His reaction was quick, but detached and levelheaded. He had seen this horrid day coming and had mentally prepared for it as best as his inexperience had allowed. Still, it wasn't enough. Secretly Straxion envied the way his brother could indulge in emotional outbursts, as he calmly held Trak back.  
The 'Con's thin leash of restraint was severally frayed with impatience. And for one frightful moment he had thought he had bit off more than he could chew when he challenged the labor 'Bot. She had almost snapped, and the 'Con was still trying to swallow his fuel pump from that. His agitation and dissipating fear was channeled into the one emotion he could handle. "Get moving you slags!" he snapped grabbing Trak once more and shoving him in the direction they were supposed to head in. Now that he had something relatively helpless to focus his anger on the Con was feeling better by degrees.  
As they marched along towards the waiting transport, the Con began to fume and muse about the twins. He murmured against the Autobrats, and how it demeaned him to have to escort them to the Decepticons' Youth Center. What was so special about 'em anyway? They came from the labor class, the absolute lowest rung on the social ladder. The not so quiet questions and complaints were colored with obscenities the twins had never heard before, and Trak flinched at some of the harsher 'descriptions'.  
The Decepticon was tempted to release his contention in sadistic ways and a cruel snarlish smile played on his lips, as he asked the boys rhetorically which one wanted to die first. The wind blew at that moment, and the Decepticon paled. The soft reminder that Tricrom was always watching. The Decepticon held his tongue for the remainder of his time with the youths - he valued his life more than he despised these 'Bots in his charge.  
"Trak don't wanna' be a con," Trak confided to Straxion as he sneaked one more hopeful glance behind as he entered the transport. He realized that his mother wasn't going to rescue them in the last breem.  
Straxion groaned deep within himself and lowered his head. Trak had made an awful habit of sounding stupider than he really was. A sad attempt to relate better with their dull-witted mother. They, both Trak and Straxion were better than that. They had the intellectual capacities that rivaled the average adult. All they ever had was their wits, and each other. It shamed Straxion to see Trak in such a regressed state.  
Trak looked at his brother, sensing the shift in Straxion's countenance. Trak wasn't sure exactly how or why, but he knew he had done something that disappointed Strax. And Straxion was the only familiar thing left in this too strange, too big world.  
"I'm sorry," Trak whispered as they settled into the transport. Straxion nodded, barely looking at Trak. Straxion turned his attention to the blurring scenery outside the view port. Trak sighed and looked forlornly at his feet. Unobtrusively, Straxion laid his hand on Trak's, as he continued to gaze studiously out the window. This was Strax's way of letting Trak know that things were alright between them. That they were together.  
  
**  
  
Part Two:  
Fever-filled half-way,  
My dreams arose  
To march again...  
Into a hollow land  
--Basho (Death song)  
  
"Don't!" Straxion growled, as he scrambled to save the collapsing structure of building blocks. He glared at Tork as the hopeless architecture washed into a wave of blocks at Straxion's feet. The Decepticon youth that had incited the chaos may have been more physically developed, but was sorely deficient in maturity.  
"Whatcha' goin' to do 'bout it?" Tork taunted. Bemused that he had finally found something that could entice a reaction from the phlegmatic and reclusive Straxion. He grinned at the Autoslagger, waiting to see if the 'Bot dared to answer his question. He got his answer, only not from Straxion. The Decepticon met the floor up close and personal as Trak tackled him.  
Tork roared with surprise and rage, as he struggled to free himself from the younger 'Bot's bulk. Trak fought to keep the 'Con pinned. He was committed to not let Tork free at this point. The Con had a nasty habit of attacking to maim at the slightest provocation, and Trak didn't relish the consequences of what would happen to him should he lose the upper hand in the slightest.  
Tork was gaining leverage, at this rate he'd be free. Desperately, Trak grabbed Tork's head with an iron grip and slammed it, with all his strength, into the floor. The resounding crack of metal on metal drew the attention of the other Cons. And the converged around the fight, like sharks to blood. The ambience of the room intensified as they crowded around the two. They could sense a potential shift of power in their hierarchy, and their duplicitous loyalties rolled and ebbed to ultimately flock to the winner's banner.  
Trak was swallowed whole by fear, as he kept sweeping away Tork's clawing hand. He thrust Tork's head with redoubled effort. Some how Trak found a part of himself detached and watching what he was doing. He found a channel to release all the pent up frustrations and pain of the last several orns. There was a perverse pleasure in watching Tork's head conform to the shape of the floor - To hearing his name in a fevered chanting of his peers as they goaded him on.  
Straxion watch with horror and revulsion as his brother got sucked into the world of these pit-spawned demons. He had never asked Trak to fight his battles. Straxion stirred himself to action. This madness had to stop, now. Time seemed to slow as Straxion pushed his way though the crowd to get to his brother.  
Tork's head rang; the reverberation different than before - a secondary rattle, like a muffled scream. Tork gasped and went limp. His optics lost focus, flickering once twice, fading to a dull black. Silence. The other Decepticon youths gawked, numbed by what they had just witnessed. Frozen; unable to process the magnitude of what had just transpired.  
Trak released Tork's mangled head with a staccato flick, horrified by the consequences of what he had done. "Tork?" The Decepticon didn't respond. "Tork?!" Trak demanded, shaking him. The silence remained, overwhelming. The youth's hide was fading to an ash gray...Trak bolted off and away from the inert mass of one-living metal. Straxion caught him.  
"Look at me," Straxion told him.  
"I- I- I- Just - Just wanted to protect-" Trak stammered as he started to turn around to look again upon the work of his hands.  
"Trak!" Straxion screamed forcefully, as he shook his brother in an effort to stop his progress. "Look at me! Focus, on me!"  
"I-" Trak started again.  
"Trak!!" The whip-crack voice cut through the somber hysteria like a laser. The youths parted, leaving a line between Trak and the bunker's commander, Stray. The Decepticon strode into the room surveying the situation. He hesitated at the sight of Tork's body. He'd been too late to save the waste-of-space, but that had been a risk he was willing to take. He looked back at Trak. It was better that Trak had ended it here. If the roles were reverse Tork would have actually reveled in crushing Trak. As it was the young hillock seemed to be in shock, sick with burgeoning guilt. Stray decided to fix that right now. Stopping short of Tork, the Decepticon commander ordered Trak forward to meet at his handy work. Straxion ghosted his brother, still of a mind to comfort him.   
"Did I give you permission to move?" Stray demanded of Straxion, as he snarled his disapproval. The harsh light of his red optics riveted the younger 'Bot. Straxion returned the glare, as he continued to pace Trak. The defiant silence carried the obvious retort 'did you forbid me?' Stray was taken aback, unused to having any ankle-biters under his command question or challenge his authority.  
Stray lashed out, backhanding Straxion square in the jaw. The young Bot staggered under the weight of the blow without even a dignifying grunt. Trak was spinning around to attend to Straxion, when Stray caught him by the arm and jerked him to a halt. The glare that failed to phase Straxion, quailed Trak.  
"I-" Trak tried to explain. Stopping when the grip on his wrist tightened to painful proportions.  
"Pick Tork up and come with me," Stray ordered, releasing Trak. "Your 'sister' can blow his own nose without your help.." Stray looked at Straxion. The 'Bot returned an even, impassive stare. Not even bothering to nurse the sore jaw he had just received. It was unnerving for Stray to look at this 'Bot. He had the demeanor of a true predator - observant, calculating. Not given to the hot passions of fear or anger, practically emotionless.  
Trak stared Tork's lifeless optics - the black orbs reflected the luminance of the room as they seemed to gape back. "Now!" Stray snapped, breaking Trak's trance. Trak looked up with a start. Then hesitantly, loath to touch it, slowly he shifted Tork until he could lift the dead weight on to his shoulder.  
Stray strode purposefully towards the exit, Trak struggling behind, Tork's feet scraping along in a disconcerting stop-start rhythm. Stray gave one more look at Straxion before he left the room. Only Straxion's cool gaze moved, following the commander as if he were prey.  
Down the corridor, Stray picked up his pace. Trak lumbered, laboring to keep up, then slowed down. Stray paused. "Move it!" He snapped. Trak had effectively clogged Stray's otherwise smooth orn with extra reports and the unpleasant duty of waste disposal. Trak was going to learn the consequences by taking a share of the duties he had created for Stray.  
Trak started to hurry again at Stray's insistence, but he was distracted. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Was it Tork's ghost that writhed and twisted in the shadows, just out of direct vision? The wraith watched several more moments before it shimmered, withdrawing into the wall.   
"I - Yes sir..." Trak swallowed. Then he hesitated once more before he marched on. He realized that he had just acted spineless, like Pi, afraid, obedient. In her world that was a good thing... But he was no longer of her world. He had been thrown to the 'Cons, to thrive or die. Tork's arm waved helplessly with each step Trak took. The weight of Tork's body was a symbol of this new reality, and the heavy reminder that Pi's world, the Autobot's world had passed forever from him. He had become the one thing he had fought so hard against - A Decepticon.  
  
Part Three:  
"As My heart prompts Me,  
"I can make its fate good or bad."  
--Ninhursag  
  
"How utterly fascinating -" Tricrom purred to himself as he studied the psychological profiles of Trak and Straxion. The twins were almost four vorns old. It was interesting how their personalities had diverged so much, given that they had the same parents, grew up in the same environment. Both of them had potential for the particular role they had been bred for. Especially Straxion. Given time that youth could be groomed for greater purposes - Tricrom's optics flickered over to Omni. She cradled their newborn son, as she paced just behind his monitors. Tricrom returned his view to the screen, a ghost of a smile on his thin lips. No, he had other plans for Straxion.  
Omni continued to circuit back and forth, nervous with having to be here. Wishing that Tricrom would dismiss them. She had managed to settle Winger for the fourth time, when a shadow of movement in her peripheral vision startled her. She turned to see Tricrom leaning towards her, as he swiveled one of the monitors to face her. That faint, malicious smile was on his lips.  
"Which one would you choose, my dear?" Tricrom casually inquired.  
Omni stopped pacing and intently focused on the screen. Reading and re-reading it, stalling for time. She cautiously looked up at her husband, wondering what twisted scheme the old turbo-fox was concocting this orn. But more importantly, how exactly did he expect her to answer?  
"It would depend on what results I wanted," Omni said with a carefully vague answer, giving up for loss trying to figure him out. She had learned in her time as his concubine that vague, unassuming response worked best to distract his attention - If he focused too long; Omni shivered with dread.  
"Yes," Tricrom mused, as he swiveled the monitor back. "I'll separate the two. Re-graft them, see what happens." The irony that the labor-class Autobots could produce something of any measurable potential, let alone a potential that could rival himself. ... Pity such potential had to be wasted... Tricrom laughed, and Omni backed away learily of him. His moods were too non-sequitur, too unpredictable.  
  
*  
  
Part Four:  
For consider him that endured  
Such contradiction of sinners  
Against himself, lest ye be wearied  
And faint in your minds.  
--Hebrews 12:3  
  
Straxion manipulated the last block of his structure with the finesse of a surgeon. Pausing, he lowered his head as he often did when rethinking his schematics. Then proceeded again, all of his attention locked on to this last block.  
Trak was sitting opposite of his brother. His hands resting on drawn up knees, as he watched his Straxion's latest creation come to form. Straxion's talent at building had bloomed into a skill worthy of admiration. What had Trak done with the same three vorns? Other than becoming the 'leader' of his fuel-thirsty peers, nothing, nothing worth speaking of.  
The shimmering above Straxion's head caught Trak's attention. "Do you see it?" Trak asked, stirring with the discomfort he felt whenever they - he was convinced that the apparitions were plural at this point - were around. "Behind you." Trak elaborated, pointing with a ham-finger.  
Straxion gave an exaggerated sigh, as with methodic slowness, he turned his head to humor his brother. Turning back he was tense, and highly focused on that block again.  
"A wall," Straxion stated firmly. "Nothing more." The shimmer seemed to listen to him, choosing that moment to fade away. Trak studied his brother's face, looking for some sign that he wasn't serious about what he had said. Did he truly not see 'them'? Was Trak just hallucinating? No. No. He cannot be mad.  
"I'm not crazy, Strax." Trak's affirmation sounded weak, as if he didn't quite believe himself.  
"I know."  
"I've seen them for almost 3 vorns now..."  
"I know."  
"When I first saw them I thought it was Tork... Coming back from the pits to punish me. But there is more than one, and -"  
"It's not a punishment. Rather it's a gift..." Straxion concluded. Trak nodded, uncertain how much he agreed with the statement. "I believe you Trak, when you say you can see things others can't."  
"Can you see them?"  
Silence.  
"Strax?"  
"My particular talent is what you see before you," Straxion answered, making a sweeping indication of the structure, and the blocks that lay littered around it.  
"I know," Trak murmured, looking at his own hands. He too had a talent, one more contrast to the brother he loved so much.  
  
***  
  
(More to come...)  



	2. Default Chapter Title

Transformers: Still Before the Storm  
V3.0.1  
By Waspinatrix (waspinatrix@hotmail.com)  
  
Legalese: Transformers, Autobots, Decepticons, Cybertron and the Matrix concept are trademarks and copyrights of HasKen. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit.  
  
This story, The characters: Pi, Stray, Tork, Prima Omni, Roc, Raz, Loq, Winger, Cord, Trak, Tesh, Ping, Straxion, BlackIce, Tricrom, AlphaWave. The Seuq game, and the Shade/Shadow assassin concept are copyright of Waspinatrix 1997-2000. The story is not to be redistributed in whole or part with out my permission. Please do not use any of my characters without my permission.  
  
Part Five:  
To strengthen a delicate hybred rose,  
It is usually grafted to the rootstock  
Of a more robust variety.  
--James Underwood Crockett (Roses: Time-Life)  
  
Stray waited, quietly, studying the frail and withered Transformer he called 'Master.' Stray could easily shatter Tricrom with the slightest of touches. The traitorous fantasy caused an involuntary shiver to trimmer through his back. More than one "Con had threatened or challenged Tricrom openly.   
More than one 'Con had been found on some recycling pile, with optics ripped out, audio receptors punctured and voice emulator shredded. Tricrom was protected and served by something unnatural, some said unliving. The Shadows of Unicrom, the Whispering. Stray would not tempt ill fate.  
"You think that Trak makes an excellent Decepticon?" Tricrom spoke languidly, barely moving from his relaxed repose. "Despite his rebellious nature and mild insanity."  
"Uh-" Stray commented. His verbal assessment of the twins had never mentioned 'insanity' and he wasn't sure how exactly Tricrom had come to that conclusion. "Yes. -I believe that Trak's wild-spark can be curbed."  
"Tell me of Straxion."  
"My Lord," Stray complied. "Straxion gives the bare minimal effort on training and drills. His free time is absorbed with toys that he'd grown out of vorns ago. While he has the character strength much desired for Decepticon command, he shows no interest, no inclination."  
Tricrom half-raised one brow, then nodded agreement to his own musings. "See to Straxion's re-integration to the labor scion, let him build to his Spark's content.  
"And Stray, moderation of discipline, yes? We don't want Trak broken."  
"Yes, Lord."  
His face a mask of boredom, Tricrom watched Stray depart. This was indeed a delicate time in the game. Trak in spite of his potential lacked the resilience of his younger twin. The molding of this pawn required a deft touch.  
"Are you sure that Straxion could not sense your presence?" Tricrom inquired again, almost wistfully.  
"Yes, my Lord..." whispered a soft breeze.  
"Pity." Tricrom murmured. Confirmed beyond reasonable doubt... Straxion failed his intended purpose, on all levels. It was a disappointment, but not necessarily a set back to the plan. Straxion would fill another useful role; Tricrom smiled as his alternate strategy percolated in his processor, his optics focusing on one particular monitor.  
"Prima Omni's report is grim, my friend. Our energy supplies dwindle by the vorn." He commented. "Her solution is radical, and cost prohibitive - as my opponents would say." He smiled again. "Let us see what Straxion does with this challenge."  
Plans seemed more and more often to bring memories of the past, and speculations of the future. Tricrom mulled in the quietude of the moment, staring off into the unseen distance. "Have you ever had the fear of Primus in you?"  
"Once... Perhaps..."  
Tricrom laughed to himself, strangely amused by such an answer. The hardy chuckle strangled and died in a choking gurgle. "That," Tricrom whispered in-between the shallow breaths of recovery, "is one virtue I shall always lack... A key element I'll need to succeed in this game."  
He touched a monitor at his side. "I think, my friend, it's time Omni introduced her son to this antiquated religion of hers."  
  
**  
  
Part Six:  
Shak Ala Lem  
--Reiki (Accountability)  
  
"Will you greet Pi, for me?" Trak asked hopefully, looking at his brother. Straxion stiffened uncomfortably as he kept his optics locked on the egress ahead. They had almost reached the end of the corridor.  
"No," Straxion said evenly. He was angry with Trak for even mentioning their mother's name. "There is no reason on Cybertron to ever see her again."  
"Strax. She had no choice," Track pushed, boring into the core of Straxion's resistance.  
"Are you so sure, Trak?" Straxion bated. "Have you ever bothered to read the contract she had agreed to?"  
"No." What contract? Trak wondered. He had never been aware of any pact.  
"If you are so interested in the past, go look up the contract. Read it. You try to figure out which one she should have given up. Why ultimately neither of us were good enough for the slagger." The last came out in a barely controlled hiss.  
Trak was stunned. He had never thought that Pi's abandonment of both sons was voluntary. His hand clenched as he remembered he walking away, never even looking back. Straxion laid a calming hand on his brother's shoulder.  
"We're both about to embark on new lives." Straxion murmured. "Let us not live in the shadows of the past." -Or the pain. A prolonged moment of awkward silence moved between them, as they came to their point of parting.  
"Bye Strax," Trak whispered, as he subconsciously bit his lip. Resisting the urge to hug his brother good bye. Straxion had always been the model of 'strength' and 'self-sufficiency'. He would not disappoint his brother in a parting guffaw.  
"..." Straxion choked down the sentiments that caught in his throat. He could not express his vulnerabilities. One crushing blow of watching a beloved family member walk away was one too many for a lifetime. And here it came a second time. His fuel pump was heavy and felt ready to burst. Wordlessly Straxion turned away, passed Stray and entered the transport.  
Stray automatically backed away. The 'Bot was already Stray's height. When Straxion reached full maturity, he'd be a walking skyscraper. And Trak wasn't far behind.  
  
**  
  
Part Seven:  
The ME* it carries to perfection.  
Its words are for utterance....  
Its words are gracious oracles.  
--Partial description of the Dirga Chamber of Enlil  
*This word had been left un-translated.  
  
"Nothing in excess," Omni mouthed reverently, as she read the ancient inscription over the entry. "Know thyself." She had thought she had understood these axioms. But that was vorns ago, and her experiences had slowly eroded that foundation of faith and knowing. The arrogance of certainty was gone. She felt almost blasphemous entering the Holy shrine for Primus.  
AlphaWave Prime looked up to see her approaching. Immediately he rose and greeted her with open arms. A warm smile on his aged face. "My daughter has returned!" He proclaimed to the attending acolytes. "Make haste! Prepare a feast to celebrate this blessed orn. Our priestess is home!"  
"No! Please-" Omni objected quickly. "I am unworthy of such honor."  
The acolytes waited for AlphaWave's final instructions. He looked at them and shook his head, he need a private moment with the Priestess. With hasty bows of acknowledgement, they left. AlphaWave turned back to his daughter.  
"How is this so?" He asked, as he gestured for her to sit and be comfortable. Omni's optics flickered. AlphaWave followed the clue and looked down to his grandson asleep in her arms. Omni was looking away, afraid to see her father's reaction to this unplanned Pit-spawn. She loved her son, but a Decepticon was a Decepticon...  
AlphaWave lightly brushed his grandson's head with kind fingertips. "You are married to him, Omni. There is no shame in the child. Did you truly expect life not to happen while you made other plans?" He rebuked her gently.  
"There is no love, AlphaWave." Omni retorted, her voice growing bitter as she continued to speak. "There is no marriage. Only a five-vorn contract, a political union between church and state. And--!"  
"Hush child, hush." AlphaWave soothed, as he placed a reassuring arm around her shoulders. "There are more important things than frivolous love in a temporary marriage."  
"You told me that the orn you announced my intended betrothal to the Decepticon Leader." Omni retorted. "I believed you... I believed I could make a difference!"  
"You have Omni," AlphaWave said, nodding towards her son. Omni silently processed his words, as she looked upon her sleeping son.  
"Father-" Omni hesitated. Did she dare ask? She, who'd been derelict in her duties to church and creator. She who had not insisted that her son have some proper moral values instilled in him. She had to ask. "Father... Will you sanctify the name of my son? Will you dedicate his Spark to Primus?"  
AlphaWave watched her struggle to ask him this. He could well imagine what her stumbling blocks were. "I will perform the rite, Omni. But only the Oracle can accept of reject him."  
Omni bowed her head in acquiescence. "I have called him Winger, in hopes that he flies the true path."  
"My dearest daughter, have faith in yourself. I know you will guide him well." AlphaWave reassured her warmly.  
  
*  
  
"What's dis, Omi?" Winger asked enthusiastically, as he reached for the shining orb that danced nie him. Omni quickly blocked his efforts by gently taking his hand into her own.  
"Shhh, Winger," She instructed. "You must be reverent in the presence of Primus."  
"What's Primas?" Winger asked, mimicking his mother's hushed tones.  
"Our creator," Omni answered, placing her index finger over his lips to quail the next outpour of questions. "I'll tell you all about it in good time. Okay?" She told him with a reassuring smile. Winger nodded accepting her command.  
She turned back to listen to the benediction. It gladdened her heart to know that her son was showing an interest in their religion, even if it was a late introduction to it. She had been afraid that her son would grow up a godless heathen like so many Decepticons were. Yet this brought up a whole new line of suspicion of Tricrom when he went from refusing to allow religion to 'taint' his son, to encouraging Omni to submerge Winger in it. The old Decepticon never did anything that didn't benefit him in the end. What was it that Tricrom had to gain by subjecting his son to a religion that he had denounced vorns ago?  
"OMI!!" Winger cried out, as he dove into her arms, trying to dodge the shinning orb that had suddenly taken interest in him. Time seemed to slow, and Omni was overly aware of the situation as she broke from her reverie. The orb was headed dead center for Winger's chest. Fear ripped through, crushing Omni, as she realized that she could not react fast enough to protect her son.  
Her fuel pump stopped; the orb hovered, frozen, just short of touching Winger. It remained for what felt like an eternity, then just as suddenly as it had fained the attack; it lazily floated away in a random meandering swirl. Omni grabbed Winger, and spun him around rapidly. She meticulously inspected him, she found no damage.   
Startled more by his mother's reaction than by the impending danger of the orb. Winger became upset. Omni held him to comfort herself as much as to comfort him. The sudden relief left her feeling frazzled and drained. She looked up at the orb, as she continued to sooth Winger. The orbs were usually harmless in their constant wandering dance around the holy chamber, though by their vary nature they were deadly.  
AlphaWave was watching them with concern. The orb had reacted oddly at the same moment in which he had dedicated Winger's name to Primus. It was an omen, portending of things to come for this youth. Though he didn't understand it, if his suspicious were right... AlphaWave shook his head.  
  
**  
  
Part Eight:  
Seeing his days are determined,  
[...] thou hast appointed his bounds  
that he cannot pass.  
--Job 14:5 (clipped)  
  
"The Eye of Primus has seen him."  
Tricrom folded his hands and thoughtfully rested his chin on his fingers. A ghost of a smile playing across his lips. So, Primus has shown an interest in the son of his priestess wife. A confirmation of his long term plans. It amused him that the Gods followed in his footsteps.  
  
**  
  
Part Nine:  
Cry unto the Lord  
That he will not confound  
Wisdom of our words.  
--Oria (Inspired by Ether)  
  
"What do you mean by that?!" Omni hissed in frustration, trying to keep her voice low so as not to wake Winger. "How can you say that the orb wouldn't have hurt him!?"  
AlphaWave shook his head sadly. "You have forgotten much in the three vorns you were gone from us."  
"Still," AlphaWave continued with concern. "It was an omen. One I feel must be taken directly to the Oracle."  
  
**  
  
(More to Come...)  



	3. Default Chapter Title

Transformers: Still Before the Storm  
V3.0.1  
By Waspinatrix (waspinatrix@hotmail.com)  
  
Legalese: Transformers, Autobots, Decepticons, Cybertron and the Matrix concept are trademarks and copyrights of HasKen. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit.  
  
This story, The characters: Pi, Stray, Tork, Prima Omni, Roc, Raz, Loq, Winger, Cord, Trak, Tesh, Ping, Straxion, BlackIce, Tricrom, AlphaWave. The Seuq game, and the Shade/Shadow assassin concept are copyright of Waspinatrix 1997-2000. The story is not to be redistributed in whole or part with out my permission. Please do not use any of my characters without my permission.  
  
Part Ten:  
So you should take away the energy  
Of their armies, and take away  
The heart of their generals  
--Sun Tzu  
  
Trak studied the so-called 'serving size' container of energon. An exaggerated expression of cynicism on his face. They had to be kidding. This portion might have been perfect, three vorns ago. Now days it was ridiculous to say the least. "Come on!" He muttered discontentedly, as he reached to pick the container out of the dispenser.  
"Me first!" A femme sneered, as she swooped in and snatched Trak's stempent.  
"Hey!" Trak growled, spinning to face her. He had a momentary double take. He had to look down. Way down to make optic contact with her. She only came to the bottom of his chest.  
He misread his open-mouth gape, as she said. "Ah, wats wong? Pohw wetro-wit lose him num-nums?"  
"Go Raz!" a Decepticon chortled from the lunch crowd.  
"Does you want it back?" she taunted as she lightly danced out of his reach, and waved the container tantalizingly in front of her. He took a step forward. "You does." She smirked, and took a large swig. Trak grabbed for the container, she merely dodged out of the way, as she spit the mouth full of energon at him and tossed the container at the same time. "Here you go." She laughed.  
Trak automatically caught the container. His glare hard and piercing from under an energon-sopped and dripping brow. There was more on his face than what remained in the container. He wiped his face clean with a low, exaggerated motion, like a cat with wounded pride. As he took a deep breath, flushing his systems with coolant. He suddenly gave her a wide, mischievous smile, as he sucked the energon off of his finger.  
"Your breaking my pump, little 'Bot." He chimed saccharine-sweet, as he turned away from her. Raz was tiny, not worth his time or frustration.  
"Who you calling 'little'?" Raz hissed, losing her cool. He had hit upon her most sensitive issue. In a male dominated society, where height was greatly admired. She had had to compensate.  
"Who do you think, Squeaky?" He asked rhetorically, as he began to walk away. He was intent on at least enjoying what miniscule amount of energon she had gracefully left him.  
The spitfire 'Con tackled him, knocking him down as she got tangled in his legs. He rolled on to his back as she gouged her way up to his face. "You slag-eating! Stupid! Hydraulic-bound oaf!" Raz screamed, as her clawed hands flew for his optics.   
He grabbed her wrists as he sat up. She had taken him by surprise. Usually his shear size was enough to intimidate his fellow Decepticons. In his social life that intimidation factor was as hindering as it was helpful. Her ability to be unaffected by his economy size, especially with her 'trial-offer' build, this sparked an interest in her. He grinned at her.  
"Is this how you sweep a date off of his feet?" He jokingly asked, as he stood up. Her face was livid, too angry to speak. "I'm flattered, mind you," he continued, "but - I'm surprised you haven't shattered by just holding my hand." He gently shook her by the wrists to emphasize his point.  
"Go flirt with someone of your own caliber, alright sweetie?" Trak suggested as he dropped her. She landed on her feet with a cat-like grace.  
"I'll slag you!" She seethed.  
"Then who'd share their energon with you, my little femme? You look half stunted as it is."  
  
**  
  
Part Eleven:  
And you have made all things new;  
You have shown me all things shining.  
You have granted me perfect ease;  
I have become like Paradise.  
--Song of Solomon  
  
Straxion found himself in reverent awe. He had entered an immense, self-contained world of order and symmetry as he came into the hangar bay. No more of the chaos and mind numbing boredom. Something to actually challenge him. So many beautiful machines. So few Transformers anywhere in sight. If this wasn't heaven, it was close! A giddy grin tried to surface through his iron countenance.  
No! He reminded himself. He wasn't some witless labor 'Bot that ran on whimsical emotions. It irked him to be reminded that he still had something of his mother in him. Self-Mastery, he had to restore the 'distance' he had between Pi and himself.  
"You Straxon?" a gruff voice asked suspiciously, from behind.  
Straxion turned to see who had mispronounced his name, and involuntarily took a step back as he gaped at the inquiring 'Bot. He was huge! Even by labor-class standards. Straxion was caught off-guard; he wasn't used to being out-sized. The other Autobot just grinned.  
"You're Pi's boy, hey? Shame about the whole thing between your mammi and father." The behemut commented with gossipy, conversational tones. He watched as Straxion's face flashed surprise. Curiosity. And anger, before setting in a mask of indifference.  
"Who's in charge here?" Straxion asked, his voice at 'absolute zero'. He had no desire to discuss his mother or his past with anyone. ...Though that strange comment had piqued his interest, and his ire at being interested at all.  
"I am, Straxy. Name's Roc," the old mountain announced, his grin growing wider. "But you can call me 'Primus'!"  
"If you insist, Primus," Straxion shrugged, suddenly and completely indifferent. "Just point me to a job. I'm here to work, not pray."  
Roc lost his carefree grin, as he seriously re-assessed the boy. He had his sore spots. Yet hard to ruffle, at least for long. Obviously serious, too serious for his age. Still, all-in-all, he liked the youth. A more natural smile graced his face, as he gestured for Straxion to follow him. "Sure do. Come on, I'll get you started."  
  
**  
  
Part Twelve:  
[...] The 'robot' has been working continually,  
even obsessively, to discover its own nature.  
--Neil Freer  
  
"Ah, Omni," Tricrom greeted amiably, finally deigning to look upon her. She had waited, patiently, on her knees. Winger was at her side - the little shadow echoing her posture. Omni raised her chin as she was acknowledged.  
"I am here as you bade me -" She was announcing, when he held out his hand: a command to wait a moment longer in silence.  
"Come, Winger," Tricrom beckoned. The boy rose and approached his father. Tricrom scrupulously studied the youth. The youth was a runtling. Small and skinny. Still, he carried himself with a sense of confidence and pride. His midnight black hide was obviously from his mother. "How old are you, boy?" Tricrom asked.  
"Two vorns, sir," Winger answered proudly, as he drew himself up to his full height.  
"Yes," Tricrom conceded, "that is a good and proper age -" Tricrom's friendly demeanor changed light lightning. "Enough. Get you gone!"  
Crestfallen, Winger's head dropped as he retreated. Utterly confused by what had just transpired. What had he done to offend or disappoint his father? He missed the reassuring glance his mother shot him as he left the room. Omni's optics followed her son, helpless to help him, and her fuel-pump breaking for his pain.  
Tricrom also watched, unconcerned for the boy's hurt feelings as he impatiently waited for the youth to completely disappear. With Winger gone, Tricrom turned back to Omni. "It's time he joined the rank-and-file Decepticons." He commented matter-of-factly.  
Omni stared at Tricrom with disbelief and horror on her face. How could he? Winger was highborn. He had an inheritance of the highest echelons of both factions. He had the seeds of great leadership potential in him. There was not one reason from the Matrix to the Pits of Inferno that Tricrom could sight to label his son defective or substandard. Why was Tricrom doing this to him? To them? Tricrom's dismissal of the child was also disgrace on the mother's good name.  
"As for you," Tricrom purred condescendingly, as if he were privy to her thoughts. "I want you to gather your personal affects, you have forty-five breem to report to the transport. -Your pet project shan't wait another orn."  
Omni, still stunned, opened her mouth to protest. Shut it, then opened it again. Her head felt like spinning. Shocked and dismayed at how easily he washed his hands of first his son, then his wife - Concubine, she reminded herself. She had never fooled herself into thinking that he'd ever love her (it was beyond his apparent capacity), but she had always assumed that her social status of her birth and breeding would hold some esteem in his optics. Was she that blazingly wrong?   
... Pet project? Pet project? Omni's optics widened. Could it actually be? Had he actually listened to her report? To her advice? But, was this her unofficial dismissal?  
"Forgive my impertinence, but is this the termination of our marriage contract?" He had to ask. She had to know.  
"I shall think about it."  
--At you own leisure! Omni thought bitterly, as she rose wordlessly. She fought her urge to take further issue over the futures of her son and herself. They were both tenuous, but not sealed. Not yet. She clung to that faint, feign hope, not daring to agitate Tricrom.  
Tricrom watched, with the same fascination of a casual observer, the bombardment of reactions marched across the landscape of her countenance. She departed his chamber in haste, as he had instructed. He chuckled softly. Such a beautiful creature he possessed. As he succumbed to the tremors of pain that wracked his body. Exhausted, he leaned back.  
"...Arrange for Winger's personal guard..." Tricrom instructed, weakly.  
"Would it not be simpler to keep the youth secluded?"  
"You are not in the habit of questioning me, my friend..." Tricrom laughed, only to be ripped apart by another spasm of pain. "...No... My friend... It is better that he learn the nuances... Of the social machine from a hands-on... Point of view..."  
"As you wish, My Lord."  
  
**  
  
Part Thirteen:  
And into the night of his very own room  
Where he found his supper waiting for him  
[...] and it was still hot.  
--Maurice Sendak  
  
"What is this, Omni?" Winger asked as he accepted an old hand comp his mother gave him, and studied it.  
"It is 'Seuq'. A game that my father gave me the orn that -" That she had married Tricrom. "That my life changed. It was something to remind me that my father was only a thought away. That even when I was alone, I wasn't lonely.  
"I want you to have it. To remember me. To remember that I am proud of you, my son. " She said gently. "To remember that I love you." She finished and smiled warmly at him. Reassuring him gave her strength to face her own storms of uncertainty.   
Winger looked up at her pensively, as if seeing her for the first, or perhaps the last time. "Will I ever see you again?" Omni clasped his had.  
"My precious Winger, I will never abandon you." She soothed, as she traced the sign of the eternal Primus into his palm. "I am her now, and for vorns to come."  
Relief washed over Winger, and he almost smiled at his foolish fear. He had always been able to trust, to please one parent. Omni's approval of him had never been conditional, withdrawn on strange whim. Again, he was strickened with the acrid question. Where, how, when exactly had he failed Tricrom?  
  
**  
  
Part Fourteen:  
In a flame let me lift myself off,  
And thunder away!  
--Lugalbanda  
  
"Why did you do that?" Winger's voice shook with shock and disbelief, as he stared at Raz from under a haze of energon waste. The petite femme 'Con sneered.  
"I felt like it," she snapped, as she postured to fight. Winger backed away, not wanting to hurt her. She sidled up, trying to coerce him into action. In a blur, her carefully cultivated, intimidating reputation was shattered as she was swept into the air and she let out an involuntarily squeak of surprise. She flopped as the momentum stopped, landing her in the crook of one arm, to dangle by her waist. Raz screeched and started clawing at Trak's knee and thigh.  
Winger had to back up another step, and lift his head to see the giant's face. If not for the 'Con emblem, Winger would have mistaken this 'Con as a common labor 'Bot. Looking back at Raz, Winger noticed, from the old scraps and scars, that this was a fairly common thing between the two of them.   
"Ah Raz," the Trak chucked with a rich baritone voice of neo-maturity. "Are you flirting behind my back again? Tantalizing the pre-pubescent your vivacious charms." As he flipped her easily onto her feet and nudged her away by the small of her back, and gave Winger a mischievous grin.  
Raz spun on him, slapping his hand away with a snarl and a glare before she stomped away. Her 'fun' with Winger ruined beyond recovery. The giant laughed as she left, then, suddenly sober, he turned to Winger.  
"Don't mind the little hellcat," The giant said to Winger, confidentially. "She's just the local Hazing Wagon: Greets all the new Mid-Barrack 'Cons that way.  
"By the way, I'm Trak," He continued, thumping his chest with a resounding 'crack' that made Winger flinch.  
"I - My name is Winger." He introduced himself, as he tried to collect his wits. This whole orn had been troublesome at best. Oft times, Winger just wished he could go back home. Only... Winger remembered that the life of privilege was over.  
Trak sighed. He had seen that look on Wingers face many times; even he had that look when he first came here. It was homesickness. Trak grabbed Winger in a huge, one-armed bear hug, startling the younger 'Con out of his depression. Trak handed Winger a half-empty container of energon. Saying, "here, drink up. Raz is occasionally generous enough to leave me pittance."  
Winger reluctantly accepted. He peered in at the not-quite-premium contents before consuming it. "Thank you," he murmured as he put it to his lips.  
"No problem," Trak said jovially, as he gave Winger a friendly pat on the shoulder. Winger fell forward coughing, spewing energon everywhere.  
"Sorry about that..." Trak offered, embarrassed that he'd forgotten his own strength. Winger was struggling to catch his breath, as he started laughing. He had chosen to see the humor of the situation rather than make it an issue. Trak looked at Winger, surprised at first. Then he smiled, and started laughing himself. He liked Winger, the 'Con's ability to laugh at his own expense was a rare character strength. Trak knew that they were friends.  
  
**  
  
(More to come...)  



End file.
